Free Raja, Story of a Racehorse by Anne Hambleton

and four broken ribs, but other than that, she’s OK. She’ll stay in the hospital tonight, but she’s expected to make a full recovery. Her parents are with her.”
    Oakley finished the bandage and stood up. “Broken ribs are the worst. It hurts whenever you breathe. Poor Mary.” He shook his head. “Thank goodness I was on Raja today. No other horse would have been able to go that fast and jump like that. He’s the one that saved her life. The EMTs said that if the helicopter hadn’t gotten there so quickly, she could have died. I think Raja liked it — going fast, I mean…Raja, you’re the best,” he said, giving me a hug, “you saved Mary’s life.”
    Michelle patted my neck and pressed a sugar cube to my lips. “You knew her life was in danger, didn’t you, boy.” She turned to Oakley, “I swear this horse is a genius.”
    Oakley nodded in agreement, “Apart from being scared for Mary, that gallop was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done, even better than the jumpers at Wellington.”
    I agree. Galloping and jumping across country is almost as good as racing.

    â€œI saw you blazing across the field,” Prism grinned at me the next afternoon. “You looked like a timber horse coming up to the finish.”
    â€œWhat’s a timber?” I started to say, but was drowned out by the terriers barking loudly as a big hay wagon lumbered into the yard, then the grinding, gravelly creak, creak, creak of the hay elevator bringing the bales up to the hayloft above us, and thump, thump, thump as they were unloaded and stacked.
    Speedy wiped his dripping face with his shirt, joking with the farmer as they lifted the bales off the precariously stacked wagon and placed each one on the elevator.
    â€œI’m glad we’re gettin’ this hay in today. They’re callin’ for some bad weather. The cows are all lyin’ down. We gon’ get some RAIN.”
    He shouted as the bales chugged their way toward the big hayloft door in the side of the barn, “Oakley, ready? You keepin’ count? After this load, we’re done.”
    â€œReady” a voice replied from the dark opening.
    Sinister clouds gathered on the horizon, slowly advancing, accompanied by low rumbles of thunder. The sticky, unbearably heavy air was so thick that you had to push your way through it, if you had the energy. I stood still, head next to the fan on my door, drenched in sweat, not wanting to move.
    After the hay was unloaded, Speedy began afternoon chores. He turned up the radio and sang along as he swept the aisle, “Ahhh’m so in love with you.” He paused outside my stall to turn on the hose and give me a casual pat. “The Reverend Al Green, ain’t no one better.”
    He moved from stall to stall, topping off the water buckets and singing with a group of interested terriers following him, hoping for a corn chip, then racing toward him each time he casually dropped one.
    â€œBLEEP, BLEEP,” the radio interrupted Al Green, followed by a voice. “A severe weather warning for the tri-county region has been issued. A storm is moving east with hail, wind gusts up to 50 miles an hour and possible flash flooding. A severe weather warning is in effect.”
    â€œSounds like we’re in for a big one,” he muttered, turning off the hose. Several horses heard him as he started measuring out the afternoon feed, and nickered and banged their buckets in anticipation. As another song came on the radio, a heavy rain started drumming an insistent rhythm on the barn roof. I began to paw the ground.
    â€œWhat is it, Raja?” Speedy went out to close the outside top doors of all of the stalls and then came back to me, “Easy, boy.”
    CRASH! The thunder sounded as if it were tearing the sky apart.
    â€œWhy, Raja, I think you mus’ be afraid of thunderstorms. I had an old dawg scared of